


By Any Other Name

by yarrie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone but especially Tsukki, M/M, Modern Fantasy AU, everyone has secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23867287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarrie/pseuds/yarrie
Summary: For the past two years, Tsukishima Kei has been spending his full moons alone. It’s a bit of a pain to deal with the aftermath of his transformations without any help, but he’s a big boy. He can handle it. It’s not a big deal.Sure, the monthly changes are getting longer, harder, more intense. Sure, there’s a reason he’s no longer welcome in his family home. Sure, he lives in a shitty apartment specifically because it's so shitty he can hardly make it any worse. But he’s a big boy, etcetera, etcetera, and in the grand scheme of things it's really not a big deal.And then a witch and his familiar move into the equally shitty apartment next door.This is when things get a little more complicated.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 18
Kudos: 63





	1. Survival of the fittest

**Author's Note:**

> In which an apartment opens up.

There is almost nothing that Kei hates more than silence, especially on nights like tonight.

Even here, in his tiny apartment in the center of Sanya, even now, the night before the full moon, there are things that can make the entire street dip into a stillness so piercing that it makes the thud of an ordinary heartbeat sound like a pounding drum.

The quietest place on Earth is so quiet that nobody's managed to stay for longer than 45 minutes. Here, if Kei strains his ears, he'll at the very least hear the hum of pipes, the quiet clicks of the portable fan two doors down, the buzz of the faulty light-bulb downstairs. But even if it's not the quietest place on Earth, there's something maddening about its stillness, and he knows why. 

It's not the silence itself. It's the implication. 

If he strains his ears, he's going to hear something like the soft gurgle of blood foaming in some unfortunate soul's throat, or the tiny _plink_ of liquid life dripping onto the floor, or the faint hiss of air as struggling lungs give up the ghost.

He doesn't strain his ears. He doesn't need to. The rising scent of blood in the air is enough to tell him there's about to be a vacancy in his building.

The thing that nobody tells you about being an outcast from society is that life as an outcast is, for the most part, very boring, and all the more so when there's an expectation that it will continue to be boring until something breaks the monotony. Violently.

...and even _that_ gets boring after a while, though admittedly this is coming from Kei, who is the sort of person who avoids trouble by ignoring it.

There is almost nothing that Kei hates more than silence, so he fills his headphones with white noise, and turns over to go back to sleep.

It's none of his business, after all, where his neighbors go at night—whether their destination is the red light district, the gutter, or the afterlife.

* * *

In certain circles of Miyagi, the name _Tsukishima_ is a thing of fear. The shifters curl their lips around it, baring their teeth as if the sound causes them physical pain. The creatures of the night avoid saying it altogether in favor of their own euphemisms. And the witches...the witches twirl banishing spells around its syllables at Midsummer— _Tsu-ki-shi-ma,_ a four-beat chant, a four-beat curse—like children covering their eyes to hide from monsters.

In Miyagi, _Tsukishima_ means something, even if all it means is that the sharp end of an arrow gets pointed at far too many people for far too little reason.

In Tokyo, _Tsukishima_ means nothing. In Tokyo, _Tsukishima_ is not a thing of fear, because in Tokyo, fear is a foreign concept, because in Tokyo, you can get away with anything short of actual genocide. This is not why Kei leaves Miyagi, but it doesn't hurt. The grass is not greener in Tokyo, but it _is_ taller.

* * *

In the morning he wakes up to the spark of burning silk. In his peripheral vision, he can see an omamori fluttering to the ground, already halfway to ash.

He squints at the little gold talisman. Instinctively, his hand grabs the water bottle by his bed to put it out, before his brain catches up to the situation and he forces himself to relax. It's not uncommon to wake up to find that he's destroyed one or two of the tiny amulets above his doorway, after all.

Then his brain jumps _forward_ and he tenses, gripping the water bottle so tight it begins to leak from the cap.

The full moon is supposed to rise tonight.

He needs that omamori.

He needs a _new_ omamori.

Shit.

He holds his breath, has to resist the animal urge to flee when he hears footsteps and a heavy weight dragging on the floor just outside his door, accompanied by the sounds of interrogation. The natural sequel to the events of last night.

_Shit._

* * *

There are closer shrines, of course, but he always takes the thirty minute train to Ueno Park if he has even the slightest need or opportunity—and today he certainly has the need. Whether or not he’ll have the opportunity remains to be seen.

He can feel the hole in his cage from even the farthest corner of the room. It needs to be fixed. The full moon is tonight. It _needs_ to be fixed. The train to Ueno park takes thirty minutes. There are cops in the hallway outside. If they take any of his time, any at all, it'll be too much.

His timing is absolutely terrible.

It always is.

There is almost nothing that Kei hates more than silence, but this—this feeling of being trapped like a drowned rat—is one of the few things on that very short list.

He squares his shoulders, in the end, and walks out with purpose, and clicks his tongue with annoyance when the cops attempt to question him, and allows his gaze to light impassively on the viscera that is trailing on the ground from door 299.

"I didn't hear anything last night," he repeats twice, truthfully, before they let him go.

It's never worth straining his ears. It's never worth knowing.

* * *

Konoha laughs, cackles, when he sees Kei lingering by the door five minutes before the shrine opens. It's his second visit in a week. He never comes more often than once a week unless there's a problem.

And, given that the full moon is tonight, it's pretty obvious what the problem is, even if no one here will actually say so to his face.

"Back so soon, Tsukki?" His smile is barely a smile, regardless of how wide it stretches on his face. "Didja miss my pretty face?"

"If you're not open, I can come back," he says, because if he's learned anything, it's that Konoha is a bit of a gadfly but not a malicious one, and the best way to deal with him is to be Akaashi-san, and the second best way is to channel some of Akaashi-san’s manners—as much as a mere mortal is capable of doing, anyways.

"Nah, we're always happy to see our _most loyal_ customer." Konoha winks at him, obnoxiously. "So, what'll it be? Better luck in love? Safety for your family?" His grin is pointed. "Protection against evil?"

Kei looks at him. "If you're not open," he repeats, stonily, "I can come back later."

"It won't make a lick of difference. I'm the only one selling today," Konoha informs him far too cheerfully. "Akaashi-san's not here."

Right. It's the full moon, after all.

"Plus," Konoha adds, with a smug half-smile, "I don't know if you can wait." 

...Right again. Unfortunately. 

"Protection against evil," he says finally.

Konoha makes a show of looking through their inventory, but without reaching for any of it, he gestures for Kei's hand and directly deposits a red brocade pouch from his sleeve into Kei's palm.

Kei doesn't quite suppress the expression of annoyance on his face.

"You smell," Konoha informs him, with an amount of glee that is almost restrained, for him. "I knew you were coming."

"Thank you," he says curtly, and counts out his yen.

"You're going through these mighty quick," Konoha says, levity concealing whatever other opinions he might have of the matter.

"Always do."

Konoha's grin is, if anything, brighter. "Even more so these days, though. Wasn't joking about your being our best customer."

"Surely there are tourists who give you more money in one day than I do in a year."

"Oh, yes," Konoha's head bobs in agreement. "But you—you're like clockwork. Your money is so consistent that we can budget around it."

Kei tucks the small red amulet into his pocket, scowling. "Good for you," he says, turning to go.

"Oh, hey!" Konoha shouts after him, lobbing a small object his way. "Have a little gift, on me! Since you came all this way and all."

It's only because of his moon-heightened reflexes that he's able to snatch it out of the air instead of picking it up from the ground like an obedient dog. He eyes the little piece of folded paper with distaste. "I don't need a fortune."

"It's a gift," Konoha says, shrugging. "Toss it if you like!"

He does, right into the recycling bin. Then he allows himself a satisfied smirk when Konoha squawks at him, offended despite being the one to suggest it in the first place.

It almost makes up for the rest of the conversation. 

Kei is dead certain that Konoha and Akaashi-san know what he is, why he needs what he needs, but he's never said and they've never asked. It's the reason he puts up with being _known_ to them. He personally would have preferred to go to a different shrine every time, to let his face vanish into the anonymous crowd—but no one else in the city can make omamori like Akaashi-san. This is Tokyo, after all, and there are no hunters in Tokyo. 

It would be even better if he could make his own omamori, but he doesn't possess that skill, and he's not in any position to ask Akaashi-san to teach him, or even to ask if he can get anything stronger than a line of trinkets. If he asks, then he loses his plausible deniability. It would be like inviting them to ask questions of him in turn, and he's not ready for that. Even if they keep their silence. Even if they keep his secrets. 

He flicks his gaze up and watches the sky as he walks, like he always does when he's not careful, like he always does when there's a full moon.

It's going to rain.


	2. For richer or poorer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which first meetings almost happen, but not quite.

Technically, he meets Kenma first.

To clarify, if a thirty second staring contest with a cat through a shattered window counts as a meeting, he meets Kenma first.

To clarify further, if a thirty second staring contest between two animals unaware of the extent of each other’s sentience counts as a meeting—and still counts if one of the parties involved doesn’t remember it—he meets Kenma first. At any point, Kenma certainly meets _him_.

In all other respects, he meets Kuroo first, and his life is both richer and poorer for it.

Mostly poorer, to be honest. But, you know, that's just how it goes.

* * *

When he wakes up, it's dark, and the sound of rain is notably absent.

Back when he was first...afflicted, it would only take twelve hours, give or take, to burn out a full moon. He'd go to sleep, wreck his room, and wake up surrounded by a pile of feathers, shredded fabric, and splintered wood.

It's not that easy, these days. It hasn't been that easy in years.

He wakes up, and it's dark, and the sound of rain is notably absent, which means that it's been over 24 hours, probably longer. As usual, he's moved to 301 for the full moon to minimize collateral damage. There is, as a result, no furniture to destroy, but there _is_ glass everywhere, which means he probably—definitely—broke the window. That's problem number one.

Problem number two: the line of omamori at the door has also been decimated beyond recognition.

Problem number three: the shards of glass and piles of ash left over from his rampage are absolutely _rank_ with magic, and if it's been more than 24 hours, he's missed garbage collection day. Again.

Here's the thing: even the shittiest parts of Tokyo have monthly collections for arcane byproducts after the full moon, because there tends to be rapid accumulation of destroyed possessions among the population in that time span, and those destroyed possessions have to go _somewhere_. But most shifters are properly recovered by morning, and so have no issues taking out the trash at 8 o'clock in the morning, and so the trash is scheduled to be collected at that time, with no allowance made for people like Kei who have to deal with multi-day transformations, making an already inconvenient affair even more inconvenient.

He'd be more grateful for the concessions granted to him in Tokyo if he could actually take advantage of them. In Miyagi, there is no such system at all, because the prevailing wisdom is that it's better to pretend full moons don't happen. But this is Tokyo, and the people of Tokyo may not be _friendly_ about the inconvenient monthly deposition of magic-sodden trash, but they carry on without the need for pretense, at least. Again, he'd be more grateful if he could actually take advantage of it.

Instead, for the third time in a week, he takes the subway to Ueno Park.

* * *

"Tsukishima-san, what a pleasant surprise. It's good to see you."

"Same," Kei says, and means it.

Akaashi-san's cool, slate-blue gaze is maybe two parts wry and one part amused. "Konoha told me you came," he says, smoothing down the perfect pleats of his hakama. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to greet you."

"It's fine," Kei says, and does not mean it.

He's never seen Akaashi-san laugh, ever, but the gentle crinkling that's happening at his eyes is probably the closest equivalent. "The usual?" Akaashi-san asks, methodically collecting crimson pouches into a little pile.

"A little more than usual," Kei admits, wincing slightly. "Maybe...fifteen?"

Akaashi-san gives him a mild look. "Fifteen it is," is all he says, but the words feel heavy. Concerned, maybe. Chiding, possibly. Resigned, definitely.

Kei winces even more.

Akaashi-san folds his hands in his lap and looks back at him, still as the surface of a well. "Anything else?"

"I've," he coughs a little, "also got a bag here, if you don't mind...?"

Akaashi-san holds his hands out. The bag of trash looks impossibly out of place there, framed by Akaashi-san's neatly pressed ensemble of white and gold, an anachronism in human form.

"Sorry," he says.

"It's no bother," Akaashi-san replies. "I'll take care of it."

"Thank you."

Akaashi-san shakes his head. "It's no bother," he repeats. "Are you on your way home?"

He never goes anywhere else, honestly. "Yeah, why?"

He's expecting something like _Safe travels_ or _Take better care of yourself_ or even _Why don't you actually do something about this problem of yours?_ He's not expecting Akaashi-san to look him up and down and say, "They're setting up the range for a nearby high school to have archery practice this afternoon. If you want to shoot for a while, you can."

Kei opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. "I...haven't shot a bow in a long time," he says, floundering a bit. It's not—it's not like he's been trying to hide his last name, or who he is. Really, it's _not_. He's known for a long time that Akaashi-san must have figured him out, because there's simply no way he hasn't, but they haven't spoken about it, so...

On second thought, maybe it's not so surprising that Akaashi-san's broaching the topic now. Fifteen omamori is a lot.

"But you remember how," Akaashi-san is saying. 

"Of course." Even if he'll never be able to use the full breadth of his abilities again, the shape and feel of a bow is burned into his body.

"It might help," Akaashi-san says simply.

"Help with what?"

He looks pointedly at the pile of omamori. "It might help," he repeats.

Oh. That was a little more convincing, but... "How would it help?"

"Sometimes," Akaashi-san says, with an air of finality, "it does."

"It just does?"

"It just does."

"Alright," Kei says, skeptically. "I'll think about it."

"I have a bow you can use," Akaashi-san offers.

"No," he says immediately. "No, that's okay. I've got one. It's just. Not in use."

"It's up to you," Akaashi-san says, almost placatingly. "But it might be helpful. In more ways than one."

"...Alright. Maybe next time."

"Konoha," Akaashi-san says, "is going to be fetching arrows."

Kei looks at him.

Akaashi-san looks back.

"Would you object," Kei says slowly, "if I accidentally shoot a non-essential part of his body? Because of how rusty I am, of course."

"That's between you and Konoha," Akaashi-san says. His eyes are laughing again.

"Fair enough."

* * *

He does not end up shooting any part of Konoha's body, essential or otherwise. He does not end up shooting anything at all, at least, not today.

No, instead, he heads back home and almost, almost makes it back to his room without incident. Unfortunately, that unlikely luck runs out five feet away from his door, when the scent of death and decay coming from room 299 hits him in the face like a freight train. His immediate, hindbrain thought is that the corpse of his former neighbor must be rotting in there, but that doesn't make any sense when the smell wasn't this potent when he left for the shrine just this morning. Besides, the police have come and gone, and they've even taken down the yellow tape—

And then his eyes catch on the nameplate and his speculation comes to a screeching halt.

There's already a new name on it.

Without missing a beat, he spins around on his heel and walks straight for his own door. If the police have to come back to the same place for another murder investigation not even a week after the first, it's going to be a long night.

Seriously, it's never worth knowing anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Annotations:
> 
> There is a mixture of Eastern and Western mythological traditions in this story, and I hope to do them both justice in their own ways. 
> 
> There is no real equivalent of the archetypal lycanthrope in Japanese mythology, so I'm going with the Western interpretation, but there is influence from the concept of yokai, which is, I think, the closest Japanese equivalent. 
> 
> Midsummer is the Summer Solstice, which is celebrated in pagan tradition as one of the "low holidays." It will probably also be referred to as St. John's Eve if a particularly stuffy old witch references it, which is a Christian name but was used by pagans because St. John was seen as a pagan figure as well. There's a lot of history involved, all fascinating, but none of it particularly relevant to the story, alas. Frankly, I just think that St. John's Eve just sounds like what Proper people who say to sound Proper, and Midsummer sounds like the casual reclamation of a more ancient term, and so I will be using the two terms accordingly. 
> 
> Akaashi's shrine is not based on a particular temple, but Ueno Park has many and it wouldn't surprise me to know that one just like my imaginings is located there. From the perspective of this story, it's a very small, charming Shinto shrine. 
> 
> Omamori are small charms you can get at Japanese shrines. They are quite pretty, and are usually for a specific purpose. The type that Tsukki has is called yaku-yoke, and are for protection against evil spirits. I have used my artistic license to imagine a world where supernatural beings are known to exist, and so using them like strings of garlic to ward off vampires is not uncommon, although not entirely correct... 
> 
> The fortune at the end is an omikuji, which is basically a little fortune that you pull out at random using various methods. They even have vending machines for these. I had a fortune from one such vending machine that said I had great fortune and decided to quit while I was ahead. Konoha, obviously, would have selected one that said "great misfortune" specifically for Tsukki.


End file.
